


Water and Weight

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-01
Updated: 2004-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A story about, well, water and weight. Water everywhere, especially in Missouri, and weight - well, that's Sam's problem.





	Water and Weight

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Water and Weight**

**by: Jen**

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh, Toby  
**Pairing(s):** Sam/Josh  
**Category(s):** Drama   
**Rating:** YTEEN-13  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** A story about, well, water and weight. Water everywhere, especially in Missouri, and weight - well, that's Sam's problem.  
**Author's Note:** There is an assumption that you might have read What's This? by Abigale, although these stories are not related. 

_Rain_

Humidity hung heavy in the air, despite the incredible downpour. Waterfalls cascaded off every surface, splashing spastically on the ground. Instant rivers coursed across the roadway, and the sibilant hiss of car tyres through water was louder than the engines. 

Sam leaned tiredly in the doorway, transfixed by the display of nature's power before him. He let his breath slide out through his teeth, hissing like the passing cars, and he rubbed his hands over his face, seeking release from the fierce ache behind his eyes. 

A shift of wind drove a sudden spray of water in on Sam and he gasped, flicking the droplets from his hair. He wiped a little of the cold water across his sore eyes and, on the spur of the moment, stepped right out into the torrential wall of water and turned his face towards the heavy sky. The chill of water took his breath away and after a moment he turned back into the West Wing, a very small smile on his rain-soaked face. The guard on the door shifted restlessly, 

"You okay there, Mr Seaborn? It sure is wet out there." 

Sam brushed off some of the moisture from his shoulders, "Yeah." He sounded defeated and squared his shoulders, "Yes, I'm fine." He moved past the guard and headed for the Bullpen. 

"Sam? You're soaked." Ginger's voice was low but urgent. "I told Toby you were in the bathroom." 

Sam rolled his eyes, "I wasn't far off!" He shuddered involuntarily, "Here goes!" and re-entered Toby's office. 

"Where the hell've you been?" 

"Needed a breath of fresh air." 

"Are you - you're wet! What'd you do?" 

"Nothing. It's just a few raindrops. I'm fine." 

"Rain? You were _outside_?!?" 

"I needed some air." 

"There's not enough air in here for you?" 

"Toby-" 

"It's pouring." 

Sam swiped at a trickle of water at his temple, "I'm fine." 

Toby sighed and rattled a wad of papers, "Here's the report on Challenge to Change. It has to be included. You might as well go through it now." 

"It's huge." Sam felt his headache twang with despair. 

"We'll be able to give it a paragraph at the most." 

Sam took the report and sat down on the couch, retrieving his glasses from the pile of papers on the coffee table. After several minutes, the silence was broken by a steady clattering. Toby slowly lowered his own reading and stared across the office. Sam, scrooched up on the couch, totally focused on the paper in front of him, was shivering, his teeth clacking together, his lips pale, his shoulders shuddering intermittently. Toby looked up to the heavens then back at his Deputy, 

"Sam." Sam was oblivious. "SAM!" The younger man jerked with surprise. 

"Huh?" 

Toby dropped his report on the desk. "Come down to the Mess. We need coffee." Sam rose obligingly, rubbing his hands together, 

"I _am_ a little cold." 

"A little stupid, too." 

"Hey!" 

"You went out in the rain." 

"I just - I had a hell of a headache. I thought it might clear it." 

"And did it?" 

Sam pouted ruefully, "No." 

Toby opened a drawer and grabbed a box of Tylenol, which he threw to Sam. "Bring those with you." Sam sniffed, and Toby came close, a hand on his arm, "If you get sick, I swear I'm going to kill you. Godammit, you're cold. D'you still have that fishing sweater here?" 

"Well, yes, but -" 

"Put it on." 

* * * 

Sam was pacing, wringing his hands, every now and then flinging his arms wide as if in supplication. Toby was reclining at his desk, feet up, a fierce scowl on his face. Josh perched on Ginger's deserted desk and watched for a few minutes. It was close to midnight and the Bullpen itself was in near-darkness. 

Sam stopped at the end of one caged pace and put a hand against the wall as if to steady himself. Josh watched him rub his eyes over and over, vicious rubs that made Josh squirm in sympathy - Sam had a headache. He moved over to the window and caught Toby's eye. Getting a curt nod, he opened the door, and Sam looked up in surprise, 

"Hey!"

"You guys near packing it in for the night?" 

Sam's gaze swivelled to Toby, who growled in concession, "We're getting nowhere anyway. Go!" 

They went. 

* * * 

"Headache?" 

"Oh yes, indeedy. It's a Ziegler special." 

"Let me drive." 

"Nah, I need something to keep me awake." 

"Oh, that fills me with confidence. I'm definitely driving." 

"Wow, it's still raining." They ran for the car. Sam leaned back in the passenger seat and rubbed his eyes. 

"I wish you wouldn't do that." The wipers thrummed back and forth across the windscreen. "How's your address going, for the water people?" 

"Not bad. I get some time tomorrow morning." 

"So you're starting State of the Union with Toby?" 

Sam sighed hugely, "Yeah. We’ve had two sessions now and we've barely scratched the surface." 

"Plenty of time yet." 

"I know." Sam dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "But he's right. We're nowhere." 

* * * 

Sam woke up with a gasp, blinking into the darkness, his heart racing. Realising he was in bed, he flopped back into the pillows relieved, panting. Josh's warm arm snaked across and a hand settled gently on Sam's sternum, the fingers spreading across his chest. 

"Your heart's pounding. Nightmare again?" 

Sam pressed a hand over his eyes and sighed, "Yeah, dammit." 

"Same thing?" Josh caressed Sam's chest, leaning up on one elbow in the dark. Sam slid his tense body a little closer to Josh's relaxed frame. Josh moved his hand down a little and ran an exploratory finger around the edge of Sam's ribcage, digging into his diaphragm, and Sam wriggled approvingly, arching slightly as Josh's hand flattened and smoothed across his stomach. "Feeling better?" 

Sam's hand joined Josh's on his belly, "I need to get back to the gym." 

Josh patted Sam's stomach tenderly, "Nah, you're perfect." He batted away the other hand and continued his downward journey, pausing now and then to squeeze or tickle, Sam now squirming with arousal. Not ready yet, Josh bent over and gently nipped at Sam's waist with his teeth. Sam twitched violently, 

"Yow! What're you doing?" 

Josh grinned, "Checking if you need to go to the gym!" Sam snorted as Josh nuzzled into Sam's navel, nipping his skin, his hand closing over Sam's groin… 

They lay together afterwards, sunken limply into one another's bodies, hot skin merging and melting, breathing as one. Sam's hand absently stroked Josh's side, his eyes half-closed, a gentle smile on his face. 

Josh yawned, "What time's it?" 

"Nearly four-thirty." 

"God! You need to sort this dream thing out. That's three nights in a row now." 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"And it's always the lake, and you swimming, and the lake weed and -" 

"Not now!" 

"I thought it was good to talk about it." 

"I don't want to." 

"You're having a tough time with Toby this week." 

"Yeah." Sam sighed heavily. 

"Wanna talk about that?" 

"NO!" 

"Later then. How much time've we got?" 

"It's Sunday, a couple of hours, I guess." 

Josh pushed at Sam and patted his belly playfully, "C'mon then, Tubs, roll over so we can grab a few zeds before the alarm." Sam huffed and rolled over, Josh spooning in behind. 

* * * 

Sam staggered into the bedroom and collapsed spread-eagled across the bed, panting like a steam train. Josh rolled over and peered sleepily into Sam's face, 

"Where've you been - and doing what?" 

"Went - for a run - "Sam closed his eyes, his face drenched with perspiration, his hair damp with rain. "So - unfit." He groaned dramatically, his chest still heaving. 

Josh frowned, "I thought we agreed, after all those breathing troubles, you'd build up slowly, at the gym." 

"Wanted to - start, now. Just felt - you know, don't want to get - need to keep fit-" he struggled up onto his elbows, coughing. "Didn't get as far - as I hoped." 

Josh bit his lip, a slow comprehension building. He scooted closer and tenderly caressed Sam's heaving chest, "You're fitter than any of us, you look great, you feel great - well, you're kind of sweaty, but honestly -" he sat up and peeled off Sam's sodden t-shirt, then grinned lasciviously, "God, you're beautiful!" 

Sam blushed magnificently and flopped back on the bed, flat on his back. Josh swiped the t-shirt over Sam's torso then, getting to his knees, straddled his partner, sitting across his groin. 

"Ooof!" 

Josh grinned and ran his fingers up and down Sam's upper body, feeling Sam squirm beneath him. 

"Josh - aaagh - I have to get to work - argh!" 

"Working on the speech?" Josh dug his fingers into Sam's skin. He loved the rare moments when he could have his brittle, internalising, complicated Sam within his power. 

"I am - aaaaargh. Then Toby - eek - " Sam writhed desperately, "wants to do State of the - Jo-o-osh!!" 

* * * 

_Water_

"I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree…" 

Why do we so often seek serenity at the water's edge? There is surely peace to be found where cool water laps gently against smooth stones. Light breezes ruffle our hair and in the vivaciousness of youth we shed our clothes and dive into the crystal depths, sunlight dappled above us in aqua brilliance. 

Those are the waters of our youth, my people. And our beloved and beautiful country bears thirty-nine point nine million acres of lakes and reservoirs, 39.9 million acres of beauty and serenity - we hope - but these waters are in danger; pollution, and the consequent eutrophication, is smothering our waterways and strangling our hold on that beauty… 

Sam wrote without so much as a glance around the room for three-quarters of an hour, facts about fresh water, inland lakes, the work of the EPA, words rushing from his flying fingers like the tumbling torrent of a newly opened spillway, foaming and looping and thundering into the gorge below. 

The phone rang suddenly, jerking Sam back into his office. 

"Sam Seaborn." 

"Sam! Devon O'Reilly." 

"Hey, Dev, how're you doing?" 

"Great! I'm really checking on you! Heard you'd been pretty sick for a while there. Tried to get you out for drinks a coupla weeks back and you were in hospital again." 

"Yeah, I had a bad run this winter. I'm fine now. You still want to catch up?" 

"You busy tonight? I'm out of town tomorrow for a while, want to pick your brain about a few things." 

"I can get free." Sam envisioned Toby, and that fuelled his determination, "Say seven?" 

"Sure. At the Heron. Bring Josh along if he's free." 

"Okay." Sam hung up, blushing slightly. Devon was always direct about his relationship with Josh. He picked up his pen. 

* * * 

_Storm_

2 p.m. 

The Bullpen was quiet - Sunday afternoon was often the only chance the assistants had for some free time, and Sam was rather relieved to find the place deserted. He stood at his window, sipping coffee, and wondered if he should have gone down to the gym at lunchtime. He had already been running but he was feeling at odds with his own body. He felt awkward, unfit, especially after being so unwell for so many weeks. He hated the thought of gaining weight. He shuddered; that was his worst nightmare. Well, second worst, judging by last night's repetitive dream about the lake. He wondered what he could do about that. He was starting to feel jaded from the interruptions to his sleep, and God knows what it was doing to Josh. Maybe after Missouri… He drifted into a sort of day-dream, picturing the lake and its beauty, the emerald green of the surrounding hills, the dark line of trees dipping towards the water, the rich azure blue of the sky…. 

"SAM!!" 

He started, swinging around, and thumped his shoulder into the bookcase. The bookcase held its ground and Sam bounced off, arms flailing. He landed with a thump on the floor behind his desk, coffee flying in a huge arc across the windows beside Toby's office. 

"Ow!" He had landed on his backside. He stared up at the windows. That was unfortunate, he thought wryly, as a rainbow of coffee-coloured drips trickled down the panes of glass. It took Toby five seconds to appear above him, his eyes dark, 

"What the hell did you do that for?" 

"You surprised me-" 

"I'd been calling you for five minutes - you're as jumpy as hell. And you've made a damn good mess there." 

"Paper towels - it'll be gone in a flash." 

"You gonna get up? Or just offer cleaning advice from the floor?" 

Sam clambered stiffly to his feet. "That actually hurt." 

"West Wing Klutz strikes again!" 

"Hey! That is _so_ unfair!" 

"Clean up this mess so we can get to work." 

"Yes, massah." 

* 

3 p.m. 

Sam grinned across the office, "It's so good, we're going to be in Missouri in two days. We're going to be talking directly to the people who really work on the whole lake issue." 

"D'you have to sound so excited? It's Missouri." 

Sam bounced up off the couch, "Do you realise just how many pollutants there are that can harm a lake?" 

"I have a fair idea-" 

"Litter is a huge problem, direct discharges, leaking septic tanks, aquatic hitch-hikers, excess fertiliser - did you realise? Just fertilising your lawn- " 

"Yes." 

"The salt and oil from road runoff too -" he made a sweeping motion with his hand, "roads beside lakes should -" 

"Sam!" 

"It's just-" 

"SAM!" 

Sam stopped, hands still in the air. 

"This is in the speech?" 

"It is." 

"And the President is giving it in two days in Missouri? And we'll be there?" 

"Yes and yes." 

"And you are aware I read it over?" 

Crestfallen, Sam sat down again and picked up his pen, "Yes," he mumbled. 

"Good. Can we get back to the State of the Union, which is WHY I am STUCK here locked in an office with YOU for the ENTIRE AFTERNOON!" 

* 

4 p.m. 

"We really need to include that reference." 

"We really don't." 

"But-" 

"Sam, offshore wastes, it's an issue everywhere but if we target it, well, we're admitting some responsibility here. Don't want it to be our focus - " 

"But we can refer to the way we're minimising wasted discharges, the SBM controversy, favouring less toxic alternatives - we could show our leanings towards a government enforcement for cleaning onboard prior to discharge; we could - " 

"Sam, GOD! NO!" 

"Why not?" 

"It's State of the Union, not Ecology 101. We're not addressing the EPA here, it's the whole frigging country." Toby rubbed his forehead, "Can you get that into your skewered environmentalist brain, the focus can't be that, not this time -" 

"But we need -" 

"No!" 

"I - " 

"NO!" 

Sam sat back and hissed out a long stream of irritated air before coughing dryly. "Are you ever going to let me finish a sentence?" He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, but before Toby could speak, he leapt to his feet again, "Look, I thought we were bouncing ideas around here." 

"We are." 

"We are so not! You've shot down everything I've offered." He paced across and stared at Toby from the far end of the office. 

"I haven't shot down anything. I'm merely _telling_ you that we need a stronger focus." 

"I'm not saying it has to be the focus." 

"I can hardly ever tell what you _are_ saying, you rattle off such crap sometimes." 

"I -" 

"Shut up." 

"That's not fair." 

"Fair? Fair? We're not in the playground, we're writing State of the Union, Sam. Fair doesn't come into it. Get writing on that health report - I want a suggested paragraph in about fifteen minutes." And without even sparing a final glance at what he knew would be Sam's wounded face, Toby buried his head in the financial reports. 

* 

5 p.m. 

"- but the whole asbestos issue is being addressed. Hell, I was _there_." 

"And look where you ended up." 

"That was an accident." 

"You were rushed to hospital in an ambulance." 

"But it wasn't the asbestos, it was the plaster dust." 

"Doesn't encourage me to raise _that_ in the speech. Just thinking about it will worry every parent in the country." 

"You don’t think a triumphant sort of 'we're overcoming this' would have its place?" 

"I don’t want the word _'asbestos'_ mentioned." 

"But don’t you - " 

"Are you going to argue about this too?" 

"I haven't been - " 

"You HAVE! Working with you can be like wrestling with piranhas sometimes. You - " There was a quiet knock and both men's heads spun angrily towards the door, 

"Whoa!" CJ held up her hand, "Time out! I'm going down for a coffee. Any takers?" 

"Good idea." Toby pushed back his chair. "C'mon, Sam." 

"I'm fine." 

"Aw." CJ came into the room and sat beside Sam on the couch. "Why the sad face, Spanky? Is Toby scaring you?" 

Toby rolled his eyes, "Let's go!" 

CJ rubbed a hand across Sam's back, "Come on, hon, let's go downstairs." She was surprised at Sam's pallor and stiffness, and gave his shoulders a squeeze as Toby disappeared out the door. Sam dropped his glasses into his pocket as they stood up. 

"I might just take a quick breath of fresh air. Tell Toby I'll be back in fifteen minutes." Sam's whole body felt uncomfortable. 

CJ looked at him searchingly, "You don't look so great." 

"I'm just a little - " he waved a vague hand in a circle, "-just need to get a little air." He coughed and gave CJ a rueful grin, "Tough session." 

"When aren't they?" She smiled at him, "You sure you don't want to join us?" 

"Oh yeah. Thanks all the same, Ceej." 

Sam burst out of the building and jogged lightly for a few blocks, putting some distance between him and the West Wing. He slowed to a very brisk walk, his brain whirling, and powered along a little further before stopping for a breather. His chest heaving, Sam could feel a latent tightness from the asthma that seemed to plague him since Nebraska. He patted his pockets. His inhaler was in his briefcase. He needed to come up with a system for that. And exercise. He needed to get more exercise. Needed to get back in shape. Needed to get to the gym. Needed to get his ideas across to Toby without arguing. Needed to get the State of the Union started. Needed to pack for Missouri, not last minute like Josh did. Needed to lose weight. Needed to get back before Toby and use that stupid inhaler before he started to wheeze again. Damn, this was irritating. Toby was really getting to him. He whirled around and headed back, coughing lightly. 

Still riddled with tension, he had difficulty signing in and couldn't hold the pen steady. The guard raised his eyebrows, 

"You all right, Mr Seaborn?" 

"I'm fine. Sorry." He scrawled his name and headed for the Bullpen, retrieving his inhaler and using it before sinking slowly into his chair, feeling disappointed in himself. He leaned forward and rested his head on folded arms. He needed to get over the churning inside, the twang of tension, before Toby returned. He concentrated on smooth breathing, feeling the asthma medication flutter through his system. 

"Sam!" A hand gripped his shoulder. Sam looked up into Leo's concerned face. He tried to smile but it was closer to a grimace. 

"Sorry. Just felt - ah - " he waggled his fingers in front of his chest. "I'm okay." 

Josh's worried face appeared behind Leo. 

"What's going on?" 

Sam leaned back into his chair as Leo let go of his shoulder, "It's nothing, I'm fine. Just been out for a walk, that's all." He coughed. 

"Did you have your whatsit -" 

"No. Do now." 

"You're supposed to-" 

"Pocket, yeah." 

"Right." 

"I know." 

Leo frowned, "Dunno how you two communicate. Weird kids. You okay, Sam?" 

"Sure. Sorry." He waved a hand in the direction of Toby's office, "We're just - getting things sorted." 

"Okay then." Leo turned to Josh, "Get back to me in half an hour." 

"It's a done deal." Josh grinned. 

"Don't get cocky with this - nothing's certain." 

"How could you think -" 

Leo cut him off with a snort, "Just do it." He left, and Josh turned back to Sam, his grin fading, 

"It's not going so well?" 

"It's awful! He won't listen to a thing I say." Sam ran a hand through his hair. 

"Think about it - it was like that last year and you ended up crafting practically the whole thing." 

Sam brightened a little, "I did! What are you doing for Leo?" 

"Oh, we've got a thing with Carter after Missouri, I just need to get a few backers on board. No sweat." 

Sam smirked, "Are you getting _cocky_ there, Joshua?" He flicked a firm finger directly at Josh's crotch. Josh leapt back as if he had been electrocuted. 

"Yow!" He reached out to playfully slap Sam in retribution, but Sam's hand came up and they met halfway, a mid-air arm-wrestle. Josh, having the advantage of being on his feet, eventually forced Sam's hand around behind his back, pressing his head down onto the desk. He leaned over and whispered an erotic suggestion in Sam's ear and felt the immediate heat as Sam blushed brilliantly. Josh grinned. "Now who's getting cocky!" he whispered. They heard a cough and he reluctantly released Sam and they both straightened, slightly dishevelled, to find CJ leaning in the doorway, arms folded, smiling. 

"What are you two up to?" Sam blushed even more brilliantly and put a hand over his eyes. Josh smoothed his hair and stalked across the office, his nose in the air. 

"Must dash. Haven't time to lurk in doorways." He leapt sideways to avoid CJ's slap and sailed out of the Bullpen, smiling. CJ turned back to Sam, 

"You feeling any better?" 

"Sure." He stood up, straightening his polo shirt. "Did you lose Toby?" he enquired hopefully. 

"He'll be along in a minute. I was a little concerned, you looked awful before." 

"I'd just done over three hours in there. It's tough going sometimes, that's all." 

"He actually thinks you're doing great. He needs the tension to get a kickstart, it's not personal, Sam. It's just his way. He's always been like that." 

Sam sighed. "I know. It's just - lately - " he looked off into the distance, "I'm finding it harder this time. I know what I want to do and say. I _need_ to have my say too. It's just, when we do this, " he waved his hand in a circle, "this - brainstorming, it's like, it's like -" CJ frowned at Sam's inability to articulate smoothly, but waited. He looked back at her and she was taken by the blueness even from ten feet away. After a moment, he seemed to have caught up with his words, "It's like standing on the shore, on a fine day after a storm, when the waves are huge and fast, and they just keep on coming, even though you want them to stop now and then, so you can dig a hole in the wet sand, or look at the shells underfoot, the waves just keep hitting you hard, sliding you sideways, so that after being battered for half an hour, you're way down the beach from where you started, and you don't know if you have the strength to work your way back, or just give up and head up the beach to a new position." He blushed slightly and looked down at the floor, and CJ moved closer, resting her hand against his fluttering heart, as she did so often when he was in turmoil. She stared into his eyes and smiled very gently, 

"You're doing fine, Sam. Just hang in there. You always come up with the most amazing speeches I have ever heard. And you will this time, too. I'm certain of that." 

He closed his eyes for a moment, CJ's hand warm on his chest, the closeness of the gesture stirring his fragile emotions. Finally he looked at her again, and smiled too. 

"Better get ready for the next session then." 

"How long are you going for?" CJ patted his chest before taking her hand away. 

"Josh and I are meeting Devon O'Reilly for drinks at seven. Wanna come?" 

"Dear God, no! And you shouldn't go either, you always get into trouble with that man!" 

"Ceej, I do not!" 

"You do! You got sick the first time at his office, you fell down those stairs chasing back street abortionists, you got handcuffed to a church railing, Sam, this guy is trouble with a capital T for you!" 

Sam pouted, "Josh is coming though." 

CJ snorted, "Just call me when you get into strife, I'll come bail you out." And she too turned and sailed out of the Bullpen, passing Toby in the doorway. Sam sighed, picked up his pen and headed back in to Toby's office. 

* * * 

_Lake_

They'd been there fifteen minutes and Sam was well into his third beer, the first one having vanished before they'd even left the counter. Sam had been tense and irritatingly distant in the cab on the way there but he was opening up now, like a morning tulip, a sparkle in his eye and a more relaxed grin softening his features. O'Reilly was matching him, beer for cigarette, and Josh sat back and watched the pair haggle over the best way to bring successful charges against a philandering district court judge in Iowa. 

Devon's law firm partner, Rhys, joined them and an hour later the four heads were bent over the table as Rhys drew his ideas for Presidential security on a table napkin. Sam was still sinking beer after beer and was looking rather glazed. He had also started to cough, a dry scratchy cough, and as Josh leaned close in, he was able to detect a quiet wheeze on the ends of Sam's breaths. 

Josh patted him on the shoulder, "Sam? …Sam." After a beat, Sam swung around to stare at him rather adoringly, a huge smile on his face, 

"Josh!" The others looked on in amusement. 

"D'you have your inhaler here?" 

Sam stared blankly, "Inhaler?" 

"Yes!" Slightly frustrated, Josh reached down and patted Sam's pockets, finding it at once, "It's in your pants' pocket." 

"It is." Sam didn't move, but kept gazing benignly at Josh and the other two grinned. 

Devon eyed Sam, "How many beers've you sunk, Sammy?" 

Sam held up one hand, fingers splayed wide, then the other. He stared at his hands, eyebrows raised, and then frowned at Devon distractedly, "What?" Then he coughed. Josh tugged at his belt, "Sam, stand up for a sec. - get your inhaler out." He glanced at the others, "All that trouble he's had with chest infections, he's had a few asthma attacks lately. Might be the smoke." 

"Shit!" O'Reilly stubbed out his cigarette, "Why didn't you say-" 

"Didn't click." Josh was still tugging and tried to slide his hand into Sam's pants' pocket, "Damn, too tight -" 

Sam looked down, confused, "Too tight?" He frowned back at the other lawyers, nodding seriously, "Have to get to the gym." 

"No, no, not that - oof! Sam, just lean _that_ way." Josh elbowed Sam away and slid his hand in, tugging the whole lining until the inhaler appeared. He gave it to Sam, who obligingly took a dose before handing it back to Josh, who dropped it into his jacket pocket. 

Rhys watched Sam for a minute then stood up, "Let's get out of here." 

They stood out on the sidewalk, Sam slightly sobered by the cold air. Saturday's humidity had gone completely, banished by twenty-four hours of heavy rain. Devon swung an affectionate arm around Sam's waist, 

"Sorry about that, Sammy. I had no idea. Let's go get something to eat." The four ended up in a booth in a steakhouse, and as Devon enthused about his latest anti-abortion tactics, Josh recognised exactly why Sam enjoyed the company of this man so much - O'Reilly was passionate and driven and desirous of a better world, just like Sam, but this untidy, hard-drinking, chain-smoking Irishman was able to step beyond the boundaries of everything Sam was raised to respect. O'Reilly laughed in the face of the law if it was in his way. He challenged limits and authority in ways Sam would never even dare to contemplate. O'Reilly was a total humanitarian, a fierce and loyal agitator for the underdog. And Josh could see that Sam admired him hugely. 

His Sam, so neat and tidy and orderly, his intensity often masked by a need for control and by the expectations of others. 

His Sam, who was just as concerned about O'Reilly's unborn babies as he was about the pollution of a lake in Missouri, the safety of an oil tanker, the best choice for a Chief Justice, the expectation that his friends are honest or the frightening possibility that he had gained a few pounds. 

His Sam, no longer wheezing but pleasantly inebriated, a release after the strident tension in Toby's office that afternoon. 

His Sam, leaning slightly against him as he abandoned his meal half-eaten, 

"I'm full already." 

"You guzzled too many beers tonight," admonished Josh fondly, sliding an arm around him. 

"I did. Far too many. Blame Toby." Sam smiled and relaxed against him contentedly as the other three men carried on a dissection of the political arena. 

Much later, Josh and Sam strolled towards home, Sam still leaning into his partner, his eyes heavy, 

"I'm beat." 

"Maybe you'll sleep better tonight." 

He stroked masterfully, cutting a sharp wake across the placid waters of the lake. The sun was warm and the water cool. After a long time, he dived deep, the golden light dissolving into a ghostly green glow as the lake weed waved and danced around him. Deeper he dived, feeling the chill of still waters and he shivered. Slowly turning, he started to swim upwards towards the distant light, but the weeds began to wave before him, twisting around his limbs, batting at his face. He tried to stroke more fiercely but the green fronds grabbed at him, slowing his progress. His breath was running out and he began to fight, slimy leaves slapping viciously at his bare skin, tangling around his wrists and ankles. He panicked, thrashing against the density, an impenetrable blanket - he could no longer see the sun. His lungs were bursting, screaming for air. Blood sang shrilly in his ears and he kicked out, a final desperate thrust that broke him free suddenly and he shot to the surface like a torpedo, thrusting out of the water, gasping for air, the sun hot on his skin. Choking, he spluttered and wheezed in a desperate effort to breathe again. He felt a hand on his arm. 

"Sam! Sam!" 

Coughing, Sam opened his eyes - the light was on and Josh was kneeling on the bed, one hand on his arm. The bedding was completely knotted and piled around them both like a wild sea. Sam stared at Josh in complete disarray, breath wheezing, hair on end, eyes huge. 

"You were dreaming." 

Slowly it sank in. Sam frowned, too many thoughts crowding in on his brain. He put a hand on his chest, "I was - it was - yeah," he sighed in defeat, "another dream." They both heard the wheeze that followed the sigh and Sam turned away to stare miserably at the bedcovers. "Sorry. It was - intense." 

Josh groaned theatrically and fell back onto the pile of twisted linen that had been their bed, "You're a disaster!" There was a pause and then his tone softened, "Your inhaler's in my jacket - which is - somewhere." 

Sam clambered out of the bed, tugging at a trapped foot, finally pulling the whole sheet free, and coughed again, wincing. 

"That hurt?" 

"Sort of. Is your jacket out in the living room?" He stumbled over the sheet, "Ow, my head! Too many beers…" and padded down the hall in the dark. Josh lay there and stared at the ceiling. How serious is it to have a few nightmares, he wondered. They'll probably pass… after Missouri, maybe. Damn, maybe when they get there he can take Sam down to the freaking lake and shove him in, get it out of his system. 

* * * 

_Fog_

Sam stopped tying his tie and turned side-on, staring into the mirror. He ran his hands across his torso a couple of times, "Josh - " 

Josh had seen the movement and had instantly opted for invisibility. He started nervously at the sound of his name, but kept his head down, focusing on the faint possibility that there was a hole in his sock. 

"Josh -" Sam ran a hand across his waistline, "D'you think I'm putting on weight?" 

Josh's eyes bulged with the desperate desire to remain silent. He risked a peek at Sam out of the corner of his eye as he tugged on his socks, watching him pat a non-existent belly. Josh knew from past experience that a mere denial was not enough when Sam was in pursuit of reassurance. He aligned his socks fastidiously. These were shark-infested waters and Josh was caught unprepared. Head still low, he reached for his shoes, mulling over the best reply. Sam was going to require an answer, and Josh knew that a flat denial wasn't going to cut it. Sam was angry and upset with Toby and heading for another session this morning, and he was looking for an outlet. The dreams weren't enough? Josh asked himself. They'd been down this road before, Josh having to battle to convince Sam that he looked fine, and there was one awful fortnight when - Josh shuddered momentarily just recalling it - when he had opted smugly for what he thought was a little reverse psychology and had commented that Sam had indeed gained a few pounds but it suited him. Sam's look of abject horror had been instant clang of cymbals around Josh's ears, and he knew he'd definitely taken the wrong option, but try as he might, he couldn't get it back. There had been a frenzy of gym activity between arguments with Toby and it had taken over a fortnight for things to get back to normal. At this point, Josh had realised that Sam's weight wasn't the issue - it was Toby. And stress. And here they were again. 

Josh patted the bed, "Come here." 

Sam glanced at his watch before sitting beside Josh, nervous tension emanating from his body in waves. Josh finished tying his shoes and sat up slowly, turning to stare right into Sam's intense blue eyes. Sam blinked at him rapidly and Josh knew he had to answer. But what answer? Josh felt his own nerves prickling eerily. 

"Come out to the kitchen. We can get a coffee. Hangover?" 

"I'm fine." 

"We got any bread? I feel like toast." He took Sam by the hand and tugged him off the bed. Sam followed obediently. 

Josh handed Sam the kettle, "You make the coffee, I'll make some toast." 

Sam glanced at his watch again, "We've got time?" 

"Sure. Ten minutes here or there, what's the difference." 

Sam filled the kettle and switched it on, picking up a dishcloth and absentmindedly polishing the silver surface before preparing the coffee. Then he leaned against the bench and folded his arms, "Well?" 

Josh twitched again as he started the toast, "Well, what?" he stalled. 

"Well, am I putting on weight? And if I am, should I skip the toast?" 

"No, you are not skipping the toast and no, you're pretty much the same weight you always are." Josh sighed, a huge Sam-laden sigh, "Why can't you just talk to me, tell me what's wrong?" 

"Why should anything be wrong?" 

Josh smiled grimly, he knew _that_ answer was coming! He stepped in front of Sam, close, trapping him against the bench, settling his hands on Sam's hips. He looked a startled Sam in the eye, 

"Because - you only do this, this _fat_ thing when you are totally stressed out about something. You get more and more tense then you start looking at yourself, like you're the one to blame, and you start looking at whether you have any faults and you create this whole weight issue." _There, he'd said it._ Sam was silent for a long moment, then he paled with surprise, 

"I do?" 

Josh squeezed Sam's hips, "Look at yourself. You're perfect." Sam stared down at his own body and Josh lifted one hand and patted Sam's stomach, "You have a gorgeous body. I love your body." He took a deep breath and spoke slowly and carefully, "This isn't about your body and I'm not enduring another frenzied bout of diet and exercise because there's really something else much more important going on. So let's talk about what's going on." 

A slow blush crept across Sam's cheeks and he lifted his face to almost meet Josh's gaze. 

"The toast's popped." He moved slightly but Josh didn't, and Sam felt his hips thrust against the bench. "Josh?" 

"You're not moving unless we can talk about this." 

"There's nothing to talk about." 

"There's everything to talk about. You're gonna face this NOW. I know it's Monday morning and we're due in the office shortly but this, you've got to face this, Sam." 

"It's just - I was just feeling kind of out of condition." 

"NO!" and they both started at the force of Josh's yell. "DON'T DO THIS! C'mon, Sam." 

He released Sam and buttered the toast. "Pour the coffee, will you?" Sam eased away from the bench and made the coffee. They sat opposite one another at the kitchen table, Sam jiggling nervously between bites of toast. Josh just waited. He felt faintly amused by Sam's tactics, which was better than being annoyed, he reasoned. 

It looked like Sam wasn't going to start, so Josh caught his eye, "D'your clothes feel any different?" 

"My clothes?" 

"Yeah, like, they still fit?" 

"Course they do." 

"Well then, it's not your body that's the problem, see?" 

"How can you tell? How the hell can you say what MY problem is?" 

"Sam, I live with you, I adore you, and believe it or not, I listen to you. And you're like a broken record; a particularly tough time with Toby and you're navel gazing and packing a gym bag for the week." 

"That's not what navel gaz-" 

"I KNOW THAT!! God!" Josh closed his eyes and wondered if he shouldn't just tie Sam to a chair and beat him about the head with a fresh flounder. He opened his eyes again and caught Sam's edgy gaze with an attempt at a steely glare, "Shut up and listen. You are fine, just stressed. Take it easy with Toby today. Take some time out. We're away tomorrow. Just get through today, okay?" 

Sam stared at his plate, "Yeah." 

"We'd better get going. You good?" 

"I am." Sam stood up, composed but pale and Josh knew he'd opened a can of worms, pointing out Sam's …what could he call it, oh yeah! He snapped his fingers, transference. 

"What?" Sam was staring. 

"Nothing. Just thought of something. Let's go." 

* * * 

Sam wandered into Josh's office mid-afternoon while he was on the phone. Sam picked up a book, put it down, tidied some papers, finally stood by the window, hands on hips. Josh finished his call and sat back to watch his uncomfortable-looking partner. Finally Sam flicked a glance in his direction, and frowned, 

"You're grinning. You look like the Cheshire Cat!" 

"I know what you're going to say." 

"I know." 

"Spit it out then." 

"Why should I?" 

"You're here. I'm here." 

Sam sighed laboriously, "You were right." 

"I know!" 

"I - " Sam ran nervous hands down his thighs, "I keep thinking about it. You're right - I need - I was… I needed something that I could control, that Toby - well, couldn't. Josh, he makes me feel like I'm at the bottom of a waterfall! But I get it. I get what you said." He looked down shyly at his toes then back up at Josh, "You're right." 

"Brilliant! Now we can go to Missouri in peace!" 

"I've finished the speech too." 

"What time's the Poets' Dinner tonight?" 

"Eight-thirty. Your tux is with mine. I'll get them later." He turned to leave. 

"Sam?" Josh stood up and rounded his desk, easing Sam up against the back of the door, and took his partner's beautiful face in his hands, so that he could look right into the blue depths, "You did great today. You faced up to a problem, you listened, you thought about it, you came to a conclusion and you look like you might be okay with it. Am I right?" 

Sam stared back, and blinked a few times, his eyes suddenly moist, and nodded, not trusting his voice. Josh kissed him then, a fierce kiss, a kiss of power and determination and passionate admiration, and Sam kissed back, a gentler kiss, of trust and relief and awesome release. 

* * * 

_Deluge_

The President finished reading the speech and sat back with a sigh. "Sam, this is good work." 

"Thank you, Mr President." 

Jed Bartlet peered out of the porthole window on Air Force One, "This speech, it's going to be a benchmark speech for water care throughout the nation. Every water group in the country's going to want to follow the speech and how people react to it." 

"Yes, sir." 

"I'm looking forward to it." 

"Me, too, sir, very much." 

Five hours into their first day in Missouri and they were on a high. Everything was running smoothly and the formal dinner was magnificent. CJ crouched down by Sam's chair as she weaved a route towards the Ladies' Room. 

"I've been watching you." 

"Why?" 

"You don't look very happy. And you're not eating." 

"You sure we're not married?" 

"Sam-" 

Sam squinted one eye, and leaned towards her, "I have a sore stomach. It really hurts." 

"Is it serious?" 

"No, but I don't feel like eating." 

"You should get out of here then, that'd be better than blatantly rejecting the food." 

"Somehow, I don't think Leo would see it like that!" 

CJ leaned in close, "Sam, you look like crap, even as pretty as you are in a fancy dinner suit." 

Sam smiled a little. "I think I'd better make it through to the speeches after dinner." 

She stood up, and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't throw up at the table then. I can't spin that." 

"Sure." 

* * * 

Josh awoke to the harsh sound of coughing and vomiting. He sat up in the darkness and brushed a hand across the bed - no-one there, but there was a strip of light under the bathroom door. He slipped across and tapped lightly, 

"Sam?" There was a groan and another bout of illness. Josh frowned and opened the door. Sam was kneeling at the toilet, his face ashen, eyes half-closed, and even as Josh took a step towards him, he twitched violently and threw up again. 

Josh quickly flushed the toilet, as Sam shuddered and leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain. Eyes closed, Sam panted through gritted teeth, desperate to quell the fiery battle in his stomach. Josh dampened a flannel and knelt down, 

"Sam? What happened? ….here y'are." Sam took the flannel and mopped his face before sucking on the wet fabric. 

"I don't know. I woke up with that pain again and I kept breaking out in a cold sweat. And eventually - oh God!" He heaved and Josh waited, flushing again. Sam began to shiver violently, groaning into his forearm. Josh waited another minute. 

"D'you think you've finished for now? Cos I think you need to be back in bed." 

"There's no bucket or anything, is there? In case - " 

"Wait there a minute, I'll get one sent up." Josh phoned Room Service, and they brought two buckets, extra towels and some bottled water. Feeling more secure, Sam crawled back into bed, his whole body shaking. Josh carefully arranged bucket and towels and slid in behind Sam, wrapping his arms around his frozen partner. 

They slept, but an hour later Sam stumbled back to the bathroom. Josh waited, wincing at the sounds and checking the time - it was nearly five. Sam returned, shivering again, his skin cold and clammy. 

When the alarm went off at six, Sam wasn't there. Josh found him hunched up on the bathroom floor, arms wrapped around his middle, head on his knees. Josh was about to speak when Sam groaned and knelt back to the toilet. Josh wrapped a towel around his shoulders, crouching down to gently rub Sam's back. 

"Ew, Sam, this t-shirt's sodden! Hang on!" He straightened again and fetched a clean white tee from Sam's bag. "You want a shower?" Sam shook his head, groaning as his stomach clenched and writhed, and he doubled over for a moment, his forehead against the cool terracotta floor. Josh stood there helplessly. "You need - should I call the doctor?" He could see Sam's head move from side to side. 

"Just a bug or something." 

Josh peeled Sam's t-shirt off and chucked it into the shower stall, as Sam swiped the towel about his body. He pulled on the clean tee. His skin was covered in goosebumps and he shivered constantly. 

"C'mon, buddy." Josh pulled Sam to his feet and escorted him back to bed, where Sam curled up into a ball. He tucked the blankets around Sam's shoulders. "I'll just grab a shower." He even rinsed Sam's t-shirt and hung it over the rail, and was just rinsing his own hair when Sam appeared again, dropping down in front of the pan. Josh tried to block out the sounds, pressing his face into the spray of water. When he emerged, Sam was sitting leaning against the bathroom wall, arms around his stomach, eyes half closed, his face strikingly pale against the warm apricot tiles. 

"Well, looks like you won't be going anywhere in a hurry." 

Sam's eyes widened, "Oh no, Josh, not today - it's the speech." 

"What time's that again - two?" 

"Yes. Ohhh God!" Sam groaned again, folding over. Josh stared at the hunched figure with compassion, 

"Maybe you'll feel better by then. This might just be a food thing. What'd you eat last night?" 

Sam lifted his head a little, "Hardly anything, I had a pain then, remember. Ohhhh!" He lowered his head again. 

"You're still shivering, get back into bed." Josh hefted him upwards and yet again steered Sam into bed, pulling up the covers. He sat down on the side, "You might be okay by lunchtime." 

"Uh-huh." 

"I gotta see Leo." 

"Uh-huh." 

"The bucket's right there." 

"Ugh. Thanks." 

Leo had a pot of coffee ready on the table and he was going over the schedule. Josh poured himself a cup and sat down. Toby lowered his newspaper, 

"Where's Sam?" 

"He might not be joining us this morning." 

"What?" 

"He's sick." 

"It's the speech today." Toby put the paper down. "How sick?" 

"Really sick. Upchuck sick. He's been throwing up since, I dunno, four maybe?" 

"Is it nerves? Or food poisoning? I mean, he's had that before." 

"I don't know, I really think he's sick this time. He looks terrible." 

CJ slipped into the room, "Who looks terrible?" 

"Sam's sick. Got a bug or something." 

"Oh no. He didn't feel so good last night, did he." 

Leo peered up through his glasses, "Sam or no Sam, we need to get onto what's going down today." 

"As opposed to what's coming up in my room?" 

"JOSH!" Everyone groaned, and Leo frowned at his Deputy, 

"If he's still bad in a coupla hours, we'll get the doc to take a look at him. Now, we've got the breakfast in just under an hour…" 

* 

CJ opened Sam's door just before ten. The curtains were still drawn but she could see the bed was empty so headed for the bathroom. Sam was kneeling by the toilet, head resting on his forearm. 

"Aw, Sammy, you poor thing." CJ turned on the hot tap and passed him a flannel. "You're still being sick, then." 

"I am." His voice sounded hoarse and he looked like someone had tried to flatten him with a steam-roller. 

"You're shivering. D'you have a fever?" 

"I don't know. The floor here is so cold." 

"Bed then." 

He rose shakily and CJ took him by the arm. "So how'd you get sick?" 

"I don't know. I don't think it was anything I ate." 

"Well, I hope it's not contagious." 

Sam stopped by the bed as another gripe clenched his stomach, "Ohhh God, this is awful." 

CJ tenderly helped him to lie down, tucking the blankets around his body. She opened the curtains and then came back by the bed, frowning in consternation, 

"You're terribly pale, hon." 

"What time is it?" 

"Ten." 

"Oh!" He groaned again, curling up. "What's everyone doing?" 

"We've had the breakfast, and they're all in meetings now. Then there's the trip to the hydroplants and lunch with the Mayor." CJ spied the water bottles, and handed one to Sam, "You'd better keep hydrated." 

He took a few sips, "Thanks, Ceej." 

She sat down on the side of the bed, "Does sleep help? I mean, maybe if you could sleep it off…" 

"Yeah." He handed her the bottle. "I'll try. But I keep getting interrupted," he grinned ruefully. 

"Leo's going to get an agent to check on you while we're all out. God, Sam, you really are white as a sheet." 

"I just want to be there for the speech this afternoon." He rolled up a little tighter as his stomach revolted. "Ohhhh!" 

CJ patted his shoulder, "Don’t get your hopes up. You can't take a bucket there." She glanced at her watch, "I'd better get going." 

* 

The third time Agent Harrison checked in, Sam was throwing up into the bucket by the bed. As Sam lifted his head, gasping, Peter Harrison had a supportive hand on his arm, "Hey, Mr Seaborn, let me help you." He eased Sam back onto the pillow. Sam was shaky and Peter could feel the dampness of his shirt and bedding. "You need fresh sheets, sir. I'm going to call someone to change the bed, okay? And I'll just empty this." He rinsed the bucket and phoned the hotel service before returning to Sam's bedside. "Have some water, sir." 

"Sam." 

"Which bag is yours, sir, you need a clean shirt." 

"Brown. Leather one." 

Peter found a black t-shirt at the bottom of the bag just as a young housemaid arrived with fresh bedding. 

"Sir, you need to get out of bed for a minute." He glanced at the maid, "He's not very well." 

She smiled back easily, "I can see that. Need a hand?" 

Sam had already swung his legs over the side of the bed and he moved to an armchair. He was shivering as Peter handed him the clean shirt. 

The maid looked up, "These sheets are soaked - does he have a fever?" 

Peter shrugged, disconcerted as Sam rose and stumbled towards the bathroom. 

The maid grimaced, "Poor guy. He works for the President?" 

"Writes most of his speeches." 

"Wow, he must be really clever then." 

"He's a nice guy too. I wonder if I should call the doctor?" They paused, and could hear Sam retching in the bathroom. 

"Depends how long he's been sick for, maybe." 

"Yeah, I guess I'll wait till his boss gets back." 

The maid changed all the towels as well, as Sam emerged bedraggled from the bathroom, the clean black t-shirt emphasising the paleness of his face. He glanced at the other two, holding onto the doorjamb, "I'm sorry - about this." 

They both smiled back reassuringly, and Peter indicated the freshly turned-down sheets, "Hop back into bed, sir." 

Sam waved a hand vaguely, "Feeling a little dizzy." He was sweating and shivering, and Peter was instantly at his side, guiding him to the bed. The maid pulled back the covers and they helped Sam in, watching him curl up. 

* 

Briefed by Peter, Toby and Josh let themselves into the hotel room with concern. They found Sam huddled on his side in the middle of the bed, looking about as miserable as was possible. Toby stood at the bed edge, arms folded, 

"Well, you don't appear any better." 

Josh sat down on the bed and swiped a hand across Sam's forehead. "Hey. You're still throwing up?" 

"I am. What time's it?" 

"One-thirty." 

"Oh no!" Sam struggled into a sitting position, "The speech is in half an hour." He looked up in horror at Josh and then grimaced, Josh passing him the bucket just in time. Toby walked across to the window and waited for the retching to subside. As Josh headed for the bathroom, he turned back to Sam, who had huddled down again, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, his pale face matching the crisp, white sheets. 

"You can't go." His voice was flat but he sat on the bed and patted Sam's hip through the bedcovers, "It'll be fine, it's a good speech." Sam closed his eyes and moaned gently, drawing up his knees as his stomach knotted. Toby kept his hand on Sam's hip, rubbing gently, and Sam blinked at him. "We have to leave in a few minutes. Are you drinking?" He passed Sam a bottle of water. 

"It just comes straight back." 

"You still have to drink." 

Josh replaced the bucket and sat on the other side of Sam. He looked at Toby, "He can't go." 

"Not a hope in hell." 

Sam rolled over slightly to look at Josh, "I really wanted to hear this one. Let me know?" 

"Sure." 

Toby stood up, "See you downstairs in two." 

After the door closed, Sam rolled onto his back and Josh stared at the miserable face of his partner. Sam pouted, "I really wanted to." 

"I know." Josh smoothed the blankets across Sam's body. "You need to keep drinking." He gently stroked Sam's head, "I'll come straight back, okay?" 

* * * 

Jed Bartlet practically bounced on the balls of his feet. A crystal clear, sun sparkling afternoon lightened his heart and fuelled his spirit. He grinned at Leo, 

"This is going to be so sweet, Leo. It feels like the campaign days, rousing speech, committed audience, and all for Missouri water! Did I tell you about the importance of Missouri water?" 

Leo rolled his eyes, "I believe you, Mr President." 

"No, Leo, really, Missouri water, it's an extraordinary resource. I could tell you -" 

"I'm sorry, Mr President," Leo was grinning widely, his eyes glinting, "but CJ's ready for ya." 

Jed Bartlet straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, and squared his shoulders, "Let's go then!" 

* 

After Josh left, Sam lay immobile for several minutes, then he rolled over to stare at the digital readout of the bedside clock. He watched the minutes slip by, blinking slowly at the greenish numbers. He felt completely wasted, wrung out, and he wondered vaguely how he was going to survive the flight home that night. 

1:58 1:59 2:00 Sam pouted at the clock with disappointment. He huffed miserably and rolled back onto his side, curling up and replaying the speech slowly in his head. 

* 

A second wave of laughter rippled through the audience and Josh grinned at Toby for a moment, Toby raising his eyebrows slightly in reply. It was a good speech and the President had the people in his grasp. And as he made a sweeping motion with his arm, it was clear how much he was enjoying himself too. A speech that reflected the preservation of natural waterways, a positive step for the planet, a speech that wasn't pitting people against people, but rather asking the people to come on board with him and make the world a better place, this was a speech that was a tonic to a wearied politician in the complex world of negotiation and debate. 

* 

As the President flowed into the second half of the speech, Sam knelt once more in the bathroom. There seemed to be little left inside him, but his stomach still churned rebelliously, and he wondered how long it would go on. His muscles were starting to protest, aching with every movement, and he felt exhausted. He sat back on his heels and considered taking a nap right there in the bathroom, but then he began to shiver and realised being cold wasn't going to help any. He rose shakily, creeping back into bed and drifting into a feverish sleep. 

* 

Applause thundered, a sudden storm, and slowly everyone rose to their feet, cheers and calls of support echoing around the grassy stadium. Jed Bartlet was totally wired, grinning almost maniacally as he strode towards the motorcade. He waved cheerily at the Press Corps gathered under CJ's watchful eye near the front entrance. 

* 

Sam pressed his face into the towel, retching dryly, his shoulders heaving. The agent who had come in to check on him was concerned. Sam seemed barely aware of his presence, flopping back onto the pillows and closing his eyes. 

"Mr Seaborn? Sir?" Sam's eyes flickered open. "Are you - I mean, are you okay or -" 

Sam rallied at the worried look on his face, and tried to sit up a little, grimacing as his stomach muscles protested. The agent moved in close to help him. 

"I guess I've been better." 

"D'you need anything? Can I help you?" He passed Sam a water bottle, "Mr Ziegler said you need to drink." 

Sam took a few slow sips, holding the water in his mouth before swallowing reluctantly. The agent smiled and sat down on the bed. 

"More." Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise and the agent stared at him intently, "You need to drink more. You're getting dehydrated." He pinched the skin on Sam's arm gently, "It doesn't take long for the body to be deprived of essential fluids." 

"Are you a doctor?" 

"No," grinned the agent, "I used to be a paramedic though. And I think you're pretty unwell right now. How long have you been ill?" 

"Only today - since about four this morning." 

"You've been throwing up the whole time?" 

"Pretty much." Sam shrugged, "It'll pass." 

"It's a long day though. Have another drink, then I'll let you get some rest." 

* 

They all had a congratulatory drink in the bar and it was nearly an hour before Josh could slip away to see Sam. He found his partner lying in the middle of the bed, blinking heavily in the late afternoon gloom. Josh knelt by the bed and leaned across so that his face was close to Sam's. 

"Hey." 

Sam struggled to focus on Josh, his blue eyes tired and dull, and a faint glimmer of a smile flickered across his face for a moment. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, framing alarmingly pale skin. Josh reached out and laid a hand on his partner's head. The heat was evident despite slight shivers running tremulously through his body. Josh smiled gently at Sam, 

"Think we might need the doctor, dude. I'm gonna call Leo." Sam's eyes drifted shut without even a hint of protest. 

* * * 

Josh ordered a fresh round of beers and dropped into a chair beside CJ. 

"Joshua! How's Sam?" 

"Sick." 

CJ gritted her teeth and snarled at him, "A little more detail, please. What did the doctor say?" Toby and Donna leaned forward as well. 

"He thinks it's some nasty stomach bug. More likely that than food poisoning because of the fever." 

"He has a fever?" 

"Yeah. He gave Sam a couple of shots. Said he may be sick for a few days." 

"But we're going back tonight. What'll we do?" 

"He said he could travel. It's not like we haven't travelled with a sick Sam before!" 

"Oh God, I remember that!" 

Donna frowned, "What exactly happened to Sam on that flight? Everyone was so weird about it." 

Toby swallowed the last of his beer, "Just don't ask, Donna. We all moved on from that moment in our history, right, CJ?" 

CJ kicked Toby firmly under the table, "Right." 

* * * 

_Still waters_

Josh arrived home with a bag full of groceries. He found Sam asleep on the couch, still pale after three days of fever and vomiting, dark shadows under his eyes. Josh dumped the bag in the kitchen and shed his jacket and tie before pouring himself a drink. He eased off his shoes and padded over to the couch, sitting down in the space left by the curve of Sam's body. He smiled down at his partner, relieved that the awful bug was finally leaving his system. 

Sam moved slightly in his sleep, and Josh smoothed a soothing hand across his chest. The blue eyes blinked open, and Josh's hand froze as he took in the depth of colour and the dark lusciousness of Sam's lashes. Sam smiled and Josh continued his caress, 

"How was your day?" 

"Better. I haven't been sick since nine o'clock this morning. How about you?" 

"Hey, that's great! I had a - good day, I guess. Toby's missing you. He's fretting like anything about State of the Union. I said, if you were feeling better you might be in tomorrow for a while - what d'you think?" 

"Sure, I should be all right by morning." 

"You up to Toby's level of stress?" 

Sam sighed, "Might as well get back on the horse!" 

Josh ran his hand down across Sam's stomach, "Still sore?" 

"Yeah!" 

Josh smoothed Sam's belly, back and forth, soothing his aching muscles, then patted his stomach gently, "At least you definitely have no worries on the weight front - you've eaten nothing for days!" 

Sam smiled ruefully, "Not the best solution, right?" 

"And the lake nightmares stopped." 

"Yeah. But I had this dream, while I was sick, it was about you and me in Leo's office -" 

Josh held up a warning hand, very deliberately laid his drink on the coffee table and leaned in close, his other hand sliding well below Sam's navel. Sam squirmed a little with pent-up pleasure, and Josh kissed him gently, before looking him firmly in the eye, 

"I don't want to hear any more about your dreams, Sam. And I definitely don't want to hear about anything to do with you and me and Leo!" 

"No, it was just his office -" 

"NO!" Josh pressed his hand over Sam's mouth, "I'm not listening." He released Sam's mouth and kissed it again, this time more forcefully and Sam responded, their intimacy fuelled by separation during the last few days of Sam's illness. Josh ran his hands all over Sam's supine torso with greed, and Sam's arms closed around his back, drawing him into a tight embrace, their bodies heating with desire and release. They devoured one another hungrily. 

Afterwards, Sam collapsed weakly, his arms hanging limp by his sides, his chest heaving, 

"God, Josh, I'm shattered." 

Josh grinned delightedly, his business shirt flapping, "Just as it should be." Then he sobered, "You do look pretty done in." He straightened Sam's clothes and tossed a blanket over him, "Stay there, I'll get changed and get us something to eat. I bought soup, you can eat soup?" 

Sam managed a tired but satisfied smile, "Sure. Wake me when it's ready." 

* * *

Toby leaned in Sam's doorway, still wearing his coat, 

"You're back." 

Sam looked up, smiling, "I am." 

"C'mon then." And Toby turned and headed into his own office. Sam picked up a pen and followed him. 

"You sure you're up for this?" 

Sam stopped and put his hands on his hips, almost defiantly, "I'm here, aren't I?" 

Toby stared at his Deputy. He looked pale and somewhat fragile, his eyes hooded and circled with bluish rings. "You look like hell. Have you slept at all?" 

"This is the best I can do right now. You'd better make use of me while I'm still able to maintain a vertical position." 

"Now why does that just sound weird?" Toby mentally erased some odd images of Sam and Josh from his head and gestured to the couch, "Make yourself comfortable, you can read over what I got done while you were sick." 

Sam sat down and put on his glasses, slipping his shoes off to sit sideways on the couch. Toby handed him a wad of papers covered in scrawls and rewrites, and Sam sighed, 

"It is good to be back, I guess. I just feel a little removed from the whole scene." 

"You need to get your head back into the work. Which has to be better than where your head's been most of the week." 

"Huh?" 

"Bathroom, Sam." 

"Oh. Yeah." He blushed slightly and started to skim down the first page, "Uh, Toby, what is this reference to the school results - you're not including that, are you?" 

"What d'you mean?" 

"We-ell, I thought that the rationale behind the new results was to keep it low-key - " 

"We have to make a reference -" 

"But we -" 

"Sam! Do I have to explain _all_ of this to you _again_?" As the tone of his voice rose, Ginger smiled to herself in the Bullpen; things were pretty much back to normal. 


End file.
